


Together, forever.

by cortchuzska



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p class="intro">Beloved, let us live as we used to live,<br/>
Let us keep the names we traded our first night.<br/>
May fleeing time not change us; and I shall be<br/>
Forever young to you, my girl to me.<br/>
Should mine be hoarier than Lord Walder's winters,<br/>
Won you the Crone,<br/>
Unmindful of old age, we shall<br/>
Treasure each day together, not count our years.</p><p class="intro">Ausonius</p><p class="intro">“<em>If he were dead, I would know it. We came into this world together, Uncle. He would not go without me.”</em></p><p>Or... What could have been, and wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together, forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Very _nonliteral_ translation of _ad Uxorem_ by Ausonius (I had to fit in together and forever, and to Westerosize it a bit... ) May the Citadel maesters forgive me!

A moon after Tommen Baratheon's coronation, Cersei Lannister left King's Landing. The Queen Mother, who had commanded during the King's minority, would rather command in Casterly Rock than be commanded at the Red Keep by her own son, now a man grown, and her twin, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard who never wished for anything to command, followed her.

“I'm honoured to be escorted by the Kingsguard. The Lord Commander himself.”

“His Grace expressed his wish for the Queen Mother to be attended permanently by a White Brother.” Jaime formally bows, and grins widely. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm no longer their commander. The King appointed Ser Loras Tyrell.”

“Margaery's prickly rose? The Lord Commander serves for life!”

“You are wrong, sweet sister. A Kingsguard does, and I'm still one, the Commander cannot be dismissed, also true; but nothing is told of him _leaving_ his office, as I lawfully did. I checked the White Book.”

“You shouldn't have, Jaime.”

“You did. You are leaving it: would you leave me forlorn and alone at the Red Keep?” Her brother complains. “Besides, it's ripe time Ser Loras grows up, stops playing in the training yard and enjoying himself in the lists, and learns how real work is like.”

“You hated it, Jaime, didn't you? As our young Queen will soon understand, yours was not half as hard as dealing with a stubborn, unruly brother as Lord Commander.”

“You will go on bullying me to the Rock, I take.”

Jaime Lannister's laughing eyes belie his true thought.

_Forever, together: as we were meant to be._

Their journey is uneventful, and once in Casterly Rock they quickly settle into a comfortable routine. Cersei rules, Jaime is her silent and keen-eyed white shadow: a Kingsguard listens to everything and hears nothing, but Jaime tells her everything, for he keeps no secrets from her. They make a good team, people say.

Sunset his the best part of the day, when they meet in what was once their father's solar, and gold and crimson paint the walls trough the long mullioned window facing the sea.

\--o--

They enter her solar – their solar – still dancing; to the tunes of Tom o' Sevens' “I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair.” according to Jaime, even if Cersei would find “The Dornishman's wife” more to the point.

_Her brother shoved the door shut with his stump. “Your Grace,” he said, when he and Cersei were alone, “I was wondering. Are you drunk, or merely stupid?”_

“You are such a beautiful, golden fool.” Jaime has her flush against a wall. “Promise me you will never, ever again drink your fill of Dornish wines. Even their godforsaken deserts scorpions know by now there was little love lost between you and Robert.”

“Dornish wines are as treacherous as the Dornish.” Cersei steadies herself, clutching to her twin's arm; the room is reeling around.

“Is that any way to welcome our incoming grandchildren? Speaking of which, it would do good we fostered the first one here. "

Since she is the heir to Casterly Rock, Myrcella was invited to visit with her husband, Prince Trystane: her consort, according to Dornish custom, for she is higher ranking and will be the liege of the Westerlands. They are newly married, and so mushy in love with each other, much more than any arranged marriage should allow for, Cersei was carried away at the feast thrown in their honour, and wished them the same happiness she had shared with her father.

Prince Trystane stared blankly and uncomprehending, but Jaime had the spirit to turn it quickly into a jape, and as soon as the musicians began to play, he seized Cersei and twirled her gracefully about the floor, to keep her away from the Dornish, their wines and further mishaps.

“ _Would Your Grace honor her white knight with a dance?”_

Past risks memory thrilled them, and sent them spinning in the darkest corners giggling sheepishly, so when Myrcella and Trystane excused themselves under a thin pretext, Jaime intoned brazenly aloud “My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I'll lay you down.” and asked “Would yellow silk suit you? I doubt I can still entice you with a crown, titles, or my swordplay.”

“Cloth of gold is more to my taste, brother.”

“As I dreaded.” Jaime wagged his head, then told her squarely “Yet, we'd better follow soon, or I could as well take you on the dais, with half the West and a quarter Dorne in attendance.”

Instead, an obnoxious Westerling got hold of the Lady of the Rock, nagging about Castamere renovation, and Jaime voiced his love for scenic, ivy-climbed _ruins_. His twin could barely held her composure.

“I trust it won't take long, before we become grandparents. What a lovely couple they are, by now. Do you think he will make a good husband to her in the long run? He is tall, dark, handsome... ”

Jaime cut her off gruffly. “The Dornish, with their paramours and all, have quite a reputation for unfaithfulness.”

He eases himself down on a chair, and begins unstrapping his golden hand.

“Trystane is tall, dark, and handsome: above all, he is the third son of Doran Martell. The heir to Casterly Rock is much more than he could ever hope for, and he'd better take good care of her. Myrcella holds all the aces. The West is the richest in the Seven Kingdoms, and for all their double names and their nicely ringing titles, Dorne is rich in pride only. Can you remember when the Martells came visiting shortly after mother passed away? The _Westerling_ girl had better cloth-of-gold than Elia, and father told the Targaryens never bothered actually conquering Dorne, for it was not even worth the effort. It won't take us much to put him in his place, as our lord father did with Emmon Frey.”

“Tall, dark and lickspittle.” Jaime counters, and drawls mimicking Trystane Martell's Dornish accent. “Thanks to the three lionesses golden rule: the Lady Joanna, Your Grace and Princess Myrcella, the Westerlands will be no less fair to women than Dorne.”

Now that he has no reason whatsoever to pour his jealousy on her, Jaime is so blatantly yet unwittingly jealous of Myrcella, a daughter he has not seen in years and he can barely remember as a child Cersei would like to laugh; instead she reassures him.

“ _Gold? Or silver?” Cersei plucked a hair from beneath his chin and held it up. It was grey._

“Tall, golden and handsome. Just what I dig for in men.” She rakes a hand through his hair. “More silver than gold, actually; even your hair is turning white as your clothes.”

“Same as yours.” Jaime doesn't miss a beat.

“Did I mention I love them snide too?” No one is more so than her brother.

He chuckles and pulls her by the wrist to sit in his lap. They quickly reached an agreement about Jaime's whites Cersei so disliked in King's Landing. He is Lord Tywin's firstborn son, were he to sport too much Lannister colours, they could forget _she_ is their liege; his garb reminds everyone he is a Sworn Brother, and as such can't hold nor land nor title.

Jaime hitches her gown up and lays his hand on her thigh; Cersei unlaces him, and runs hers on his taut chest.

“You are thin and fit as a boy... I'm getting plump, instead.”

Her twin spends on the training yard even more time than in his heyday, and it was quite a lot, lest he lose the precious little sword skill he so painstakingly won back.

“We will end up like aunt Genna and her poor Emm.” Jaime turns to her the naughty smile is his only, and nuzzles into her bodice, drunken on her skin scent, before she could slap him. “Splendid. I always liked aunt Genna.”

_She pounded on his chest with feeble fists._

Cersei punches him, laughing: to Jaime, she will always be a mischievous girl. They stand still for a while, gazing at the fire roaring in a lion mouth shaped hearth frame.

She leans forward, and puts her hairnet on a stool. Cersei's cropped locks bare her neck; they are each others' lookalike again, and there is nothing Jaime would want more than kissing her white skin.

What she feels on her nape, though, is the King's Justice's steel hard lick, not her twin's warm mouth.

_Together; as they were meant to be._

Jaime, at her behest, is clean-shaven, and Cersei would like to stroke his cheeks and trace once again her brother's jawline, yet it's not his twin's smooth fingers pressing at his throat, but a slick hempen rope.

Jaime knowingly smiles, nonetheless. He asked Tom o' Sevens for his last song and will swing to its tune.

_Forever; as they were meant to be._


End file.
